This, unfortunately is a short story about the grim horror that is/was/forever will be known as "The Slop Pail". Now, you may be saying "An organic bin isn't that big of a deal." Well, you've clearly never dealt with country-style organic waste.
When it was evident we couldn't burn organic waste in our fires (egg shells and orange peels don't burn as well as paper and bug spray cans do, apparently), I suppose, the slop pail was invented to give those misfit organics a place to go and be organic. This place was one of those massive plastic compost bins with lids that never fit (And fruit flies that clouded in front of you if you dared try to open it). And the means to transport aforementioned organic waste to this shoddy compost bin was: The Slop Pail.
On a weekly (yes, weekly) basis, when my brother and I would go for our visit, the slop pail would be waiting patiently in the kitchen, greeting us with a mixture of enthusiasm and rage. Normally, this festering mass would consist of eggs, coffee grinds, vegetables and liquid hell(?).
The smell that emanated from the slop pail was one I've never smelled prior, but it was the same every time I took it out. Since then, I've only encountered a similar scent once or twice.
I'll consider myself lucky.
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